The tale of a strange and beautiful lady living in an ancient swamp with only frogs for company. Inspired by one of my own drawings: 'Princess Anura' although this story turned out a bit darker and more complicated than the simple description for that pic...
Also, I was reading a lot of Edgar Allan Poe's stories before writing this. It's not inspired by any of them, the concept is all my own, but I liked the long, poetic, eloquent sentences and highly visual descriptions and melancholy atmosphere. Not that any of my stories could ever match the amazingness of Poe's writing, but I tried to borrow a bit of his style (while also trying not to ruin my own style in the bargain. ^^;) So, yeah. I know there's a few overly long sentences. They're kind of deliberate.
Oh, btw, this is meant to be a two-parter, but I haven't written the second part yet. The first bit deals with the Princess's past, the second part will deal with the present/future consequences of what happened, significance of the mask 'n whatnot...
Also, umm, can anyone tell me if I used the word 'lionising' in the wrong context? (Lionising meaning to treat someone like a celebrity) Can you treat someone like a celebrity in a hateful way? Or is there a better word for that? (And I choose to spell 'lionising' with an 's', not a 'z' :P)

I've wanted to write a story about Tasmania for a long time. Those that live here often grumble and complain about the weather, unemployment, the price of petrol and so on, but deep in our hearts we love our quiet little island and are proud to be Tasmanians. That's why it hurts to see its unique natural resources being needlessly destroyed. This story is a tribute to Tasmania's magnificent old-growth rainforests. Note: 'obliqua' and 'regnan' are species of eucalypt, the biggest trees in Australia (and among the biggest in the world). The story of El Grande is true. The names of the forest spirits are all names of actual Tasmanian forests under threat from logging (with the exception of St. Clair, which is actually a lake forming part of the Cradle Mountain Lake St. Clair National Park, an area which has been protected forever from logging and mining activities). The 'aboriginal' language near the end of the story is not real-- I made it up, except for the word 'Trowena' which IS a real word, meaning 'Tasmania' in Palawa kani (a language used by Tasmanian aboriginies).

Airports, I have come to discover, are depressing places; full of people either going away or being left behind. They are lonely places designed for the separation of souls. True, they can also be for reunions, but this story is for all those who have ever been left standing at the windows, watching your loved one fly away into the great unknown...